


While There's Something Left to Save

by AlwaysBoth, Chiomi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysBoth/pseuds/AlwaysBoth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiomi/pseuds/Chiomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn't expecting to be slammed into the wall as soon as he entered the room, but honestly, he wasn't sure why. It seemed a fairly standard entrance these days. Assuming that the mass of bruises and torn up back would change anything was just silly. Really, whatever had he been thinking?</p>
            </blockquote>





	While There's Something Left to Save

The remainder of the alphas were on their way out of town as Stiles limped his way up the steps to his bathroom. He was probably going to be weak and sore from the beating he'd taken for a couple weeks. Still, it wasn't terrible and it had kept some of his friends from probably getting hurt even worse or killed.

He was glad his dad was on duty tonight. Though he was in the know, now, about the supernatural, he was also still a parent. If he caught his son walking around with big purple bruises and tree bark embedded in the scratches on his shoulder blades... well, Stiles would need to learn how to sneak out better if he wanted to leave the house in the next year. Also, someone might get shot with the shiny wolfsbane bullets his dad now kept in a separate clip.

The blood from the scratches was nearly dried and some of the tree bark snagged on his shirt. His arms were bruised and sore, and there were definitely some bruised, if not fractured, ribs. All in all, it was the most painful disrobement he'd ever experienced, and the lukewarm water of his shower wasn't easing any aches, but anything warmer would set the open wounds to burning. He got out as soon as he was sure he'd gotten out all the wood chips he could on his own and the water was running clear. Antiseptic and bandages should probably be in order, but there was no way he was going to be able to reach properly. He dried off carefully, wrapped the towel around his waist, and slowly made his way back to his bedroom, fully intending to pass out the moment he reached the bed.

Stiles wasn't expecting to be slammed into the wall as soon as he entered the room, but honestly, he wasn't sure why. It seemed a fairly standard entrance these days. Assuming that the _mass of bruises_ and _torn up back_ would change anything was just silly. Really, whatever had he been thinking?

" _Augh!_ Holy fffff- _god_." Apparently Derek could catch a hint though, since he increased the distance between them to something that gave a suggestion of personal space and decreased the pressure on his bare upper chest from a chokehold to something more closely resembling a caress, and _welp_ , that was kind of awkward.

"You're injured," Derek said, voice not quite rid of it's initial growl.

"Really? You think? I hadn't noticed. Whatever do I do without your spectacular powers of observation? Though, you know, I'd thought you might have picked up on it sooner since it _happened right in front of you._ " Stiles really would have liked to remove his still tender wounds from the wall, but that would require pressing into Derek's hand, and just, no. No need to make things any more humiliating.

"Yes, well, sometimes I get distracted by how spectacularly stupid you are."

"Hey, now!" Because really, that wasn't fair at all, since the whole plan to get rid of the alphas was primarily Stiles' and they pulled it off without any of them getting really hurt... well, besides Stiles, but really that wasn't important in the grand scheme. "I'll have you know I'm known as the clever one."

"Which doesn't say much for Scott." Damn. Derek was good. And Stiles was screwed. Why the hell did he have to be attracted to people who could one-up him? This was highly inconvenient when he was pressed against the wall, being caressed, wearing nothing but a towel. At this point, Derek was either being uncharacteristically polite or he was officially the _worst werewolf ever._

Another horrifyingly awkward second passed before Derek took a step back, dropping his arm to his side. He'd hear any sigh of relief that Stiles gave, so he didn't bother hiding it, instead letting out as exaggerated an exhalation as he could manage; to which Derek responded with as exaggerated an eye roll as _he_ could manage. And really, why did Stiles ever have to realize Derek actually had a pretty fantastic sense of humor (one full of sass and bitchfaces)? It ruined everything.

"Let me look at your wounds. Get on the bed." There was some mix up in Stiles brain whether to give Derek some sort of suggestive look or make an innuendo or mock him endlessly, so what came out was a choking sound and an expression that would probably have the alpha checking him for brain damage next. Derek's responding glare was as unimpressed as every other look he'd ever sent in Stiles’ direction _ever_. And there _had_ to be something very wrong with him, because how can you have a thing for people who always look at you like that? So while Derek left the room and started making noise in the direction of the bathroom, Stiles adjusted the towel as best he could and stumbled face down on the bed, groaning in a combination of pain and relief.

Derek came back and set the first aid kit on the bed next to his shoulder, and Stiles noted distantly that he should probably stock up on gauze again soon. The lifetime supply that had come with the big first aid kit was almost out. With practiced movements, Derek set out a couple sterile packs of gauze and grabbed the rubbing alcohol and a cotton swab.

This was Stiles’ least favourite part. It burned like a son of a bitch. Every time, without fail. You'd think after so many times he'd get used to it, but no. He grabbed his pillow and gripped it tight, even though that pulled at his shoulders, because he refused to jump and twitch as the alcohol went on.

He didn’t talk, either, because Derek got growly if Stiles talked while he was being patched up. Last time Deaton had to give him stitches, Stiles had tried to distract himself by listing off people far more deserving of being scratched up by evil werewolves. At least he did until Derek's eyes flashed red and he started snarling. It was completely unfair, since Stiles should be able to respond to his own pain however he wanted, but it was nice to have something to be able to focus on, to accomplish, while he was being taken care of.

So he accomplished silence as Derek traced fire down shoulder blade and rib. He accomplished silence as Derek broke open a pack of gauze and unfolded it over his back, letting it settle light as butterfly wings, and then ripped a strip of medical tape as if it had set his whole family on fire. He taped the gauze in place, so the abrasions would hopefully heal without anything else getting stuck in them. Like paint chips or little bits of stone or whatever material made up the next hard surface he was slammed against... and he was not going to think about Derek slamming him against hard surfaces right now. Seriously. Being a teenage boy around werewolves _sucked_. He was drifting on a sea of exhaustion by the time Derek finished.

Derek put the unused pack of gauze and the bottle of rubbing alcohol back in the first aid kit and threw the used applicator in Stiles’ trash bin, snapping the first aid kit closed violently. "You're not going to do that again," Derek said, and he had such a ridiculously soft voice for such a gruff person.

Still, Stiles was reasonably positive that had been a command, and he could rouse a response to that. "What, save everyone's asses? So sorry I made sure everyone got out alive. Was there someone specific you wanted dead, or-"

"You're not a werewolf, Stiles."

"Strangely enough, I _had_ noticed that."

"We are."

"Hey, I noticed that, too, actually. Man, I'm on a roll today." He did not want to deal with Derek’s attitude. He hurt too much.

"Stiles!"

"Yes?"

"Shut. Up." Stiles released an exasperated sigh, but complied... for now. "What apparently _has_ escaped your notice is that werewolves are, in fact, stronger than humans and faster healers. And everyone we’re up against? They know it, too. They know that _you’re_ where they can hit us hardest, and that’s where they’re going to keep aiming.”

This speech felt familiar, and Stiles closed his eyes to keep it out.

“So you need to stay the fuck behind us. You need to not step between me and goddamn alphas. If you pull this again, I swear by all you hold dear that I will make sure you are never alone again. I will make sure that every step you take, someone watches you. I will make it so you never get to _masturbate ever again_.”

Stiles snorted a laugh. "What, so you're going to have someone tailing me every day for the rest of my life?"

"Well, it's not like I can threaten to kill you, since you obviously have no concern for your own life."

“The Argents are bigger than our pack. If the alphas kill any of you, the Argents don’t care. If the alphas kill _me_ , the Argents and all of the hunters on the West Coast will hunt them down. They wouldn’t ever actually kill me, and everything short of that I can recover from.”

Derek looked mad enough to spit fire from where Stiles watched him through his lashes, but he couldn’t actually say anything to that, because Stiles was right. Of course he was right. He was always right and people should really listen to him more. Stiles could see Derek reaching out slowly in his peripheral vision, and he made an effort not to flinch. Derek wouldn’t hurt him, not when he was so pissed about Stiles being hurt. He wouldn’t hurt him, right?

He didn't. He just brought a hand to the outside of the medical tape and traced the edge of it, leaving a line of warmth and painlessness in his wake. “Oh my God, are you doing the werewolf pain-sap thing? Because that’s awesome. You should totally do that.”

“Shut up,” Derek said, but he didn’t stop touching Stiles, so that was okay, that was great. Derek traced back up his back, limning the bandaging, and Stiles felt himself relaxing. Pain-sapping was so much better than painkillers, because it left him still able to think. Warm, rough fingers slid up his back and back down again and the pain lessened to manageable, then faded to insignificant.

Derek’s face, when Stiles looked, was overwhelmingly intent. His arm was streaked black. Stiles froze. “Stop.”

Derek scowled. “Let me take care of you, idiot.”

“I’m fine, now,” Stiles protested. Derek shouldn’t be hurting himself when Stiles was fine and safe and healing and totally capable of sleeping while some of the rest of the hurt wore off.

Derek gripped his neck, shoving him deeper into the bed. It was disturbingly hot. Why was everything about Derek disturbingly hot? There ought to be laws.

The touch lightened, the hold turning to a caress. The pain was nearly gone, which made Derek’s hand a distraction. It really wasn’t fair. And that was his spine. Dear God that was his spine. Fuck werewolves and their super-senses, Derek could probably tell that the touch made his dick twitch. The remnants of pain faded, though they’d probably be back once he scabbed over, and the caresses were just that.

Derek would probably rip his throat out if he smelled boner. Stiles was going to die, and it was going to be the most inglorious death ever. Throat ripped out by hot werewolf for being turned on by hot werewolf running his stupid hands all over Stiles’ stupid naked skin. Stiles pressed harder into the bed, trying vainly to form some kind of airtight seal between his hips and the bed so that Derek couldn’t smell him.

Unfortunately, that also provided exactly the right kind of friction. “Derek, seriously, you should go. I’m fine.”

Derek leaned in, face right near the crook of Stiles’ neck, and took deep a sniff, and oh God he was finally going to follow through on the threat to rip Stiles throat out with his teeth. “You don’t actually want me to go.”

His voice was low and lust-rough and his breath blew hot past Stiles’ ear. Stiles stifled a groan as he realized Derek knew exactly what he was doing to him. “You’re an asshole.”

It came out a little breathier than he’d intended, because Derek had palmed his lower back and he was ridiculously warm. Derek made a humming noise of agreement, probably laughing at him. Because he was an asshole. And apparently a tease, but Stiles was going to take this as good news. It meant he probably wasn't going to die with a hard on.

Derek ran his hands over Stiles until Stiles couldn’t bear it. “You should probably kiss me.”

Stiles opened his eyes and looked at him and Derek smiled, smug and brilliant, and Stiles kind of hated every time he did that. Someone that moody had no right looking so charming. He leaned in to kiss the corner of Stiles’ mouth, and the angle was awkward and there wasn’t enough contact, but it was perfect because it was Derek’s mouth on his.

He was such an asshole. Why couldn’t they be having this conversation when Stiles was more fully able to participate?

Derek trailed his mouth over Stiles’ cheek and jaw and down his neck, soft lips chasing the scratch of stubble. Stiles closed his eyes against the sensation as he tried to control the shiver running down his spine. This was not what he'd expected when Derek showed up, but no way was he going to argue. Warm, wet, and oh so good, Derek's tongue dragged over Stiles’ pulse, tasting. His hand had migrated down from his lower back, fingers slipping just inside the towel, loosening it and making Stiles twitch against the terrycloth. Blunt human teeth closed around the top of Stiles’ spine as Derek bit down. It hurt, but then he _sucked_ , and, Stiles couldn't contain the groan that elicited, because fuck, that felt good. Derek ran his tongue along the tender skin, then kissed around it. That had to have left a mark, and Stiles liked the idea, liked it way too much, liked the idea of being marked as Derek’s and not just as breakable.

“Is this okay?”

Derek’s hand hovered just over his ass, and Derek had to be able to smell his boner, and Stiles was pretty sure he’d made noises when Derek’s mouth was on his neck, and he still had to ask? It's hard to convey a proper "are you serious?" look when you can't turn to face the person properly. “Yes, fuck, yes, just touch me. I swear to God if you don’t touch me right now I will run you over with my Jeep as soon as I can sit in the seat without it hurting my back.”

Laughing, Derek buried his head in an uninjured area of Stiles’ shoulder. The movement brought him closer, so he was a line of solid heat all down Stiles’ side, his legs straddling one of Stiles'. There was also a pretty decent chance that was Derek’s erection pressed against his hip, and how awesome was that, that he’d given Derek Hale an erection?

“Wow, jackass, way to laugh at me. You should stop laughing and kiss me again or something.” Stiles was babbling, because it would be humiliating if Derek changed his mind or thought Stiles talking was just funny and the funny negated any hotness. “You should also maybe take your shirt off, because even if I can’t touch you without stretching my back back open I still like looking at your stupid perfect abs.”

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek, fond and chaste, and that was vaguely terrifying. “Consent doesn’t actually require threats, you know.”

He rolled up and away and stripped off his shirt, throwing it on Stiles’ floor, then came back and ran his tongue down Stiles spine, one long unbroken swipe to the top of the towel. “Can you get up on your knees?” The rumble of his voice, deep with lust now, sent vibrations up Stiles' spine, and there wasn't much Derek could ask of him that he wouldn't try to do right now.

“Fuck, yeah, however you want.” Stiles drew his knees up, shifted the weight to them, and that pulled on his back and ribs, but not too much, it wasn’t too bad. He was starting from a point of wolf-induced numbness and it didn’t feel like it had started bleeding again, so that meant it wasn’t bad at all, was worth it if it meant Derek would actually touch his dick.

Derek pressed another kiss to the top of his tailbone as he loosened the towel and let it fall. “You shouldn’t get hurt. I hate it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s never exactly in the plan.” The pain had been take from him, but sensitivity was left in its wake, and the stubble brushing against his back was doing horrible things to his coherent thinking.

"I don't know what I'd do," whispered against his spine, and the words meant almost nothing by then. "If you couldn't be fixed and it was because of me."

Derek grabbed his ass with both hands, then, almost massaging and Stiles asked, nearly wailing, “Why are we even talking?”

Derek shifted down and licked his hole - licked him! - and Stiles made a high noise that could almost be a whine. “I like talking,” Derek said, soft and amused, and he was _talking to his ass_.

Then he licked again, and again, and that was rimming. It had looked weird on the internet, and Stiles hadn’t quite understood the appeal, but he really did now, it felt amazing, it felt soft and insistent and just ridiculously good. Stiles felt like he should let Derek know, tell him that this was great, this was awesome, why hadn’t they been doing this months ago, but all that came out was a moan.

Derek lifted his head, and his tongue was replaced by a finger, just running along the outside, pressing gently. “I didn’t expect this to shut you up. Is this what I should have been doing every time you wouldn’t stop babbling?”

Stiles made a noise, high and incoherent, that was supposed to be ‘no, but now I may babble at you in private just to see if you do this again.’ The words scattered when Derek pressed his finger in, slow and gentle.

Derek took his time, working one finger in and out endlessly. “Do you have lube?”

Fuck, this required words. Words were hard. “I - second drawer.”

The night stand only had one drawer, and it took only a moment’s hesitation before Derek left him for the desk, a chill settling in the wake of his absence. Stiles just shut his eyes and breathed, hard, trying to cobble together some semblance of coherent thought. It didn’t work, because Derek was rummaging quickly through his drawer and just the thought that he was there for lube, that they were actually going to have sex, was mind-destroyingly hot.

The bed shifted as Derek returned and moments later his finger was back, this time slicked up. A second finger joined the first, just working him open. One hand flying up to grasp the headboard, Stiles arched into the touch, which was a really horrible idea as his back and ribs and kidneys, those were probably his kidneys, informed him. A broken noise, half-pain, half-pleasure, escaped him, and Derek swore.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Derek’s hand - the one not occupied with his ass - came up to grip his hip bruising hard. He pressed kisses, soft, to Stiles’ back. “I don’t want this to hurt you, I don’t want you to hurt, let me make it better, I’ll make it better, I’ll fix it.”

The pain drained, and Stiles let his head drop forward, trying to memorize everything about the moment because it was important. Derek’s fingers started up again, moving in him and curving and pressing against a spot that made his brain melt.

“I need you to be okay,” Derek almost growled against his spine, and the vibrations it sent through him had Stiles arching back into his hand.

“Please,” Stiles gasped, not even sure what he wanted, just _more_. Derek’s hand left him, and that wasn’t what he wanted at all, no, that was bad, and Stiles thrust backwards and - oh. Derek’s cock was nudging at his hole.

“Do you want this?”

Stiles nodded frantically.

Derek thrust in slow and slick and hot, and Stiles was shaking with it, gasping and keening, hands clenching the wood and sheets they were braced against.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped out as his hips came to rest against Stiles’s ass, and he curved over Stiles’ back and just stayed there for a moment.

Stiles was grateful, because it gave him time to adjust. Derek’s cock in him felt nothing like Stiles’ own fingers the times he’d tried that, felt nothing like Derek’s fingers: there was more in him, and longer. Adjusting didn’t take that long, less time for him than Derek, apparently, and Stiles needed to move, needed friction. He twitched forward against Derek’s constraining hand, and Derek followed, but it was enough.

Derek bit the top of his shoulder blade, above the gauze and tape, and withdrew almost all the way, then thrust in firm and sure. He withdrew again and found a rhythm and whispered filthy endearments as he took Stiles apart, one stroke at a time. A hand slid along Stiles’ hip, curving around the front and along the iliac crest and down until it rested on Stiles’ dick, grip soft but oh so very present..

A high whine escaped Stiles, and Derek breathed into his neck, “Please, let me take care of you, let me keep you safe, let me look after you.”

The desperation in his voice was a wrecking ball, and Stiles came shuddering in Derek’s hand. Derek kept thrusting through the aftershocks, rhythm losing all coherence until he was just pressed hard and hot against Stiles back and coming.

They were both breathing hard as Derek pulled out and shifted to the side so that he didn’t land on Stiles when he collapsed to the bed. Stiles lowered himself more carefully, lowering a still-shaky arm to grab the towel and make sure he wasn’t landing in the wet spot. Derek flung an arm over Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, and Stiles floated in languor and well-being.

Then some of the things Derek said sank in, and Stiles felt his brain jump back online, an almost physical jolt. “What the hell, you enormous freak. You _like_ me.”

Derek ran a palm up Stiles’ side, gentle over the bandages, and pressed a grin into his neck. “Shut up.”


End file.
